How to Survive a Dog Attack

I recently had the joy of being mauled by a police dog. But let me start from the beginning….

A few months ago I saw a story in the newspaper about the Citizen’s Police Academy, which is an 8 week long course offered to educate citizens about the various facets of police work. It was every Wednesday evening from 6 to 8 PM at the Academy on Cherry Street. One week we went over the crime lab, another week we had a SWAT team demo, a TAZER demo, but the best one was the K9 Unit presentation.

They brought in a large European breed of police dog, he resembled a German Shepherd, but he was actually a Belgian Malinois and he answered to commands in german. I can’t remember what his name was but he was about three years old, very energetic, but at the same time he was ready to get to down to business. To me, he looked like he should have been named Buster.

"Buster"

The police officer who was handling Buster had him do a few drug sniffing demos, then he asked for a volunteer to be set upon by Buster “full contact”. I jumped at the chance and was asked to slip into a big fat suit that made me look like a sumo wrestler. It was fabricated of a material sort of like a thick throw rug, with a steel bar frame inside it. After autographing a waiver I was given the green light to take off running. But first I glanced at Buster. He was at full attention, with eager slobber hanging from his jaws of death. He was studying me like I was fresh juicy chuck roast ready to be eaten. He stared me down as if I were the world’s worst and most hardened criminal, a repeat offender to be destroyed with extreme prejudice. He was calm yet eager, coiled like a spring ready to rip me in two. His lower jaw moved up and down like he was yelling but no bark was coming out, like he wanted to curse at me, but knew he couldn’t because there were children in the room. I gulped and turned, and as I waddled away at my fastest speed possible I could here the police officer working Buster into feverish madness by repeating “Are you gonna get that bad guy!!?? Are you gonna get that bad guy!!??” I then heard the sound of a chain drop and a dog’s nails tearing across the gym floor. He was after me at full speed within milliseconds. I could here him growl with each step “RRR, RRR, RRR” as he got closer and closer. I felt like Gordie Lachance in the movie “Stand By Me” when he’s being chased by Chopper, the mythical junk yard dog from hell.  I didn’t dare turn around to look at him, the hair on the back of my neck was standing on end. Buster wasn’t pursuing me as if I were a frisbee. He wasn’t after me to play. He was out to devour me and cause me serious bodily harm. Together we had regressed to ancient times, I was a helpless caveman being chased by a hungry wolf, to be eaten alive on the cold forrest floor. Buster was running at about 35 MPH when he vaulted into the air and clamped down on my right shoulder, spinning me like a top and together we crashed and rolled to a stop. He was up instantly, shrieking with rage, telling me exactly what he wanted to do to me. He latched onto my steel rod protected fat suit arm and began tearing it back and forth, wanting to take it with him after he was done with me. His fangs were bared, spit flew, and he was a primitive killing machine lusting for the plasma of his lawbreaking combatant!

As the audience hooted and hawed with laughter and cheered him on, the police officer ran up and with a flick of the wrist tossed a short piece of rope to the side. This caused the Hyde in Buster to vanish and he was Jeckyll once again. He set free my arm, snorted, and padded over to his piece of rope and laid down and started to munch, like nothing ever happened, but kept a watchful eye on me as I shakily stood up on wobbly knees. The police officer gave me a good slap on the back and said well done as the crowd gave me a round of applause for “being a good sport”. As I took off the fat suit I could feel soar muscles in my left arm where Buster had been trying to rend my arm free. I faintly remember an elderly women telling me I had turned as white as a sheet. I sat down and looked over at Buster, who was still laying there chewing his rope, like it was just another day at the office.

 

 

 

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